This Is Me Pretending This Is All I Need
by Brokie
Summary: RENTfic. MR. Angst and loneliness inside. Two people are alone and missing each other. Updated Second and most likely final chapter added
1. Roger

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Disclaimer: not mine, don't sue

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A/N: The title and the inspiration come from the Linkin Park song "My December." Yes, I know I should be working on "Radio," but this just sort of.. happened. If more inspiration hits there might be a second chapter from a different POV, but I'm not making any promises. Please review!

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This Is Me Pretending This Is All I Need

You don't live here anymore.

I hate you. I love you. I hate you I love you I hate you I love you I hate you but I love you, dammit, and you didn't understand that I wasn't going to be able to deal with you leaving. It's not like I'm weak, really, it's just that sometimes it hurts too much for me. And I would cry and scream and let myself fall apart if I thought it would make you come back, but it won't. Because you think love is something to throw away, and you act like it doesn't matter if you have it or not, and maybe it doesn't for you. I remember biting back laughter when you once said you were strong, and so now of course I feel guilty and foolish, because you are the strongest man I will ever meet. I only half realized back then that you didn't mean the kind of strength I always valued, you meant the kind of strength that you knew—you _always_ knew—I would never have. And I've had to realize that you must have been right, because I'm breaking now. And so I don't understand you. I never thought you would be—or even that you could be—the one to do this to me. I always thought we would end up together, maybe not the way we were going to for awhile, but just together. Best friends, like always, nothing having changed us except a few more funerals and a few more years.

So where are you? Where is my protector with his perfection and his whispered words of happy endings? Because I need those words right now, murmured in my ear, sugar-coated lies that, even now, I'm still far too willing to believe.

You thought you had caught me crying for her again, holding her picture and decorating the glass and wood with tears. You were wrong. I was crying for you. Clutching the faded picture of us, grinning at the camera like the end of the world really wasn't approaching at top speed, I was sobbing and breaking over my own mortality. I was no longer afraid of death or dying but of what would happen to you when I was gone. I guess I shouldn't have worried, though, because I'm sure you're doing just fine without me. After all, you left, didn't you? And as you turned to walk away, your face wasn't etched with the fear of being alone, just with anger for what you thought I had done. I never got a chance to explain. I wish I could know what would have happened if I had run after you, kissed you, held you, begged you to stay, instead of crumpling to the floor like my legs couldn't hold me up anymore.

You left me here with myself, and you just had to know what was going to happen. But you still packed up your bags and walked through that door and never looked back, so nothing really matters. It doesn't matter that it was you in the picture, not Mimi, it doesn't matter that I'm falling apart without you, and it especially doesn't matter that I still love you. People like you don't have to care about things like that; they are content thinking I wasn't over her, they are brave enough to leave me and love behind. And I'm sure you're fine. You're surviving, you're strong, because you always did and you always were. But every day I wake up alone in bed, something in me breaks, because I'm not like you. I am not a survivor. And because you aren't here anymore, I don't have to worry about you. So I can let myself fade away. I can slip off the edge until I'm dying and it won't matter, either, that I won't be taking my last breaths in your arms, telling you I love you, begging you not to cry. It won't matter. Because you're gone. You don't live here anymore, you walked away and left everything painfully empty and I hate you for that.

But I love you, and I'm dying here, and you're gone. So even though you'll never hear me and you'll never care..... goodbye, Mark. I'm sorry.


	2. Mark

Disclaimer: still not mine

A/N: A second and last chapter from a different point of view. (Finally got the inspiration.) You might want to re-read the first chapter, seeing as I posted it way back last December.

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This Is Me Pretending This Is All I Need

--Chapter Two--

I needed an excuse to get out, and so of course you appeared, as if by magic, clutching that excuse in your hands and pushing me back into second place once again. It was the last straw. It wasn't anything I hadn't dealt with for years, but I was scared, and some things had faded just a little too much. So I walked away. I saw you, sitting there crying over her again, and I had to leave. I walked out the door and pretended that every ounce of me wasn't begging to turn back, to change my mind. I needed to be strong, just this once, because I couldn't come after her anymore. I felt stuck, waiting for you to notice me standing behind those memories and photographs and tears.

Something broke when you looked up at me with your haunted eyes and I just couldn't stay any longer. I always thought that us being together would solve everything. And for awhile it did; you were happy, and I thought I was too. We were in love. It was what I had wanted for so long, and nothing else mattered to me. Except maybe that look you never quite managed to cover up in time, the one that told me you were thinking of her. I couldn't be with someone who spends all his time wishing for someone else.

I can't bear to think of you being alone, so I don't let myself. I immerse myself in everything around me, working and eating and sleeping and waking up to do it all over again. I scare myself when I think. I can fill my head with the most painful pictures, and I only end up hating myself even more for what I may or may not have done to you. I don't know if you're okay. I would call, just to hear your voice and make sure I hadn't lost you forever, but I can't. I know that the sound of your voice would be my undoing, and it would mean me coming home to you and who knows when I would get up the courage to leave again. And I'm sure you're fine. You have your memories and pictures of both of them, and a lot of the time those seemed to be the only things you really needed.

I don't know if what I did was fair or not. I don't know if I was too impatient, if I should have simply waited for you to grieve, for you to be ready for me. But it was so hard... I had been ready for you for far longer than I myself had even realized, and it felt like I had already given the both of us so much time. I began to wonder if you would ever stop mourning for her long enough to love me as much as I love you. It's not like I wanted to replace her or anything so impossible. I only wanted you. And I don't think I ever got what I wanted.

Before that night we first kissed, I had accepted and understood that I was second to April, and later to Mimi. That was the way it was supposed to be. But after that night, I needed more than that. I had switched roles, I began to play a different part, only some things didn't change as I expected they would. It was me you kissed, me you held at night, but there was a piece of you that I don't think could ever have been mine. It belongs to her, it always will. I will never be your song. It has been difficult to accept, but I finally know what I should have been able to see all along. I was, am, and will always be second best to you. And that is no longer enough. The only thing left to do is move on. I just hope I can.


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